Ella startled and instinctively moved behind me. Nothing had ever pleased me in my long life like this simple gesture. Pride swelled my chest when I felt the tremor in her hand as it brushed my back, and without thought, I shifted, placing myself fully between her and my brothers. My arm wrapped back, drawing her into the curve of my body.
Thyros stepped forward, his crimson and gold aura flaring hot, his expression torn between awe and suspicion. “Is it true?” he demanded. “Have you found her?”
Too close.My sword was in my hand before the thought finished. The steel sang as it was about to level against his throat, the tip poised to pierce if he so much as breathed wrong. But I had underestimated the Dark Abyss' executioner; he was faster than I expected. His sword was up, clashing against mine, as our biceps strained to gain the upper hand. My aura lashed, black and red intertwining in warning.
“Not. One. Step. Closer,” I growled.
The chamber stilled. Six sets of eyes fixed on us, on her. Gods, they’d better heed mywarning; she was mine to protect. And I would. Against all costs. Even against my brothers. The air thrummed with the clash of power, shadows, and starlight bent under the strain. Thyros didn’t flinch, and neither did I as our swords pressed against one another. His aura burned hotter, daring me to fold first. Before the fire in both of us could ignite, a voice cut through, steady and unyielding. “Enough.”
Vaelion’s tone held no heat, only command. It cracked through the tension like a shield wall slamming into place. “Lower the weapon, Zapharos. Step back, Thyros.”
For a long breath, no one moved. Then, slowly, I eased the blade away, though my body remained angled in front of Ella, my arm still tight around her waist. Dravok chuckled darkly from the shadows. “Our Praetor shows his teeth. Against his own brothers.”
“Dravok,” Vaelion’s voice sharpened, “stand down.”
The Warden of Shadows melted back, though his eyes never left Ella. Calculating, always calculating.
Satisfied, Vaelion turned his gaze to me, calm as ever, but there was iron beneath the surface. “Where did you find her?”
The question was simple. The weight behind it was not.
My jaw flexed. “Rotodex.”
A ripple went through the chamber, and suddenly, all of them were regretting not taking my spot.
“The Abyss already swallowed the world,” Selkaris said at last, his voice full of the burden he liked to remind us he always carried. “Memories there are fractured,fraying even as I hold them.” His dark eyes fixed on me. “You didn't fulfill your duty.”
He was right. I had not. I never finished taking on all of Rotodex's past and legacy. “I did what was necessary,” I ground out. “The Cryons had taken her. They left her among the ruins with others. I kept her alive. That is all you need to know.”
Dravok’s smile curved, thin and poisonous. “Not all. Not nearly.”
Thyros snorted, his crimson aura flared hot again. “The way you guard her, like a blade at our throats. Don’t insult us by pretending she is just another mortal you rescued.”
Before I could reply, Nythor laughed, a high, cracked sound that echoed off the walls like broken glass. “She is your Aelyth! Our Aelyth have returned! Don’t you see it? Don’t you taste it?” His eyes gleamed, fever-mad. “Amber sparks in your black eyes! She is your anchor, Praetor. She is your balance.”
Ella tensed against me, and I felt her instinctively try to step back. My grip tightened, holding her in place.
“My anchor,” I echoed, my voice dropping low and dangerous. “Or my undoing.”
I lookedfrom one to the other, and my throat went dry. Gods above, they were all handsome as sin. Not the clean, polished kind of handsome, either, no, this was the dangerous, carved-from-starlight-and-shadow kind. Two of them looked older, heavier with years, but the rest? They could’ve walked out of some immortal warlord calendar spread.
Every last one of them scared the hell out of me.
The hall itself didn’t help. It was enormous, the ceilings were lost in darkness, and the walls were lined with what looked like frozen starfields. The table at the center wasn’t wood or stone, more like obsidian, veined with light that pulsed like a heartbeat. Under my feet, the floor thrummed, alive, like standing on the skin of some sleeping giant that might wake if I breathed too loudly.
I pulled my courage tighter and tried not to gape. So this was the Council of Seven. Great. Just great. Theyweren’t just men; they were storms caged in flesh. And right now, six storms were staring at me like I’d crash-landed naked in the middle of their war council.
One of them stepped closer, his aura burned crimson like molten suns, and Zaph’s sword was instantly in the air. The man—god? titan? whatever the hell he was—didn’t even blink. He was up before I could blink, and then he and Zaph were locked in a battle of strength and will. Both their biceps strained, swelled to unimaginable ropes that made my heart beat faster. I couldn't help it. It was just so… primal. The other's eyes glowed with fire and arrogance, like he’d eaten battles for breakfast.
“Not. One. Step. Closer,” Zaph snarled, and the blade hummed with the promise of blood.
The man’s aura flared hotter, a furnace ready to consume. I feared for the worst and held on to Zaph's shirt, but kept myself ready to jump out of the way, should the standoff end in an actual sword fight. Good grief. Aliens had abducted me, moved through a black hole, defied everything that physics said to be impossible, and here I stood, staring at two gods about to fight each other with swords.
An older voice rolled across the hall, deep and steady as mountains. “Lower the weapon, Zapharos. Step back, Thyros.”
I snapped my gaze to the speaker. He wasn’t as young as the others—his hair was silver-shot, his aura more controlled—but gods, the weight of him was crushing. One word from him and the whole room stilled.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement in the shadows. One of them lounged in the darkness, watching with a smirk sharp enough to cut glass. His gaze slid over me, calculating and hungry. The kind of man who didn’t need a sword, because lies and secrets were already weapons in his hands.
